The Right Way Up
by mollrach13
Summary: written for the ohsam comment fic prompt: 'The boys are getting older. Dean's body may have been brand new after hell, but Sam never got that quick fix. He still has all his old scars and injuries. And when the weather gets cold, it's harder to get his joints to loosen up. Especially in the mornings.' Set season 8


Waking was not pleasant for Sam that morning. He could tell the night before, running through icy forests and snowed fields, that his muscles and joints were feeling it, the cold and bracing chills seeping into their bones making them grind and halt like a worn out machine. But morning was the worst.

Gingerly Sam stretched as much as he could and rolled gently onto his back bracing himself for the pain. When it had cleared Sam noticed the purposed shuffle of his brother pottering about in the room.

Squinting his eyes open into the dull morning light Sam watched Dean scurry from one end of the room to the other returning to the table and his open duffle laying on its surface.

"Dean?" Sam spoke cautiously, his body not quite up to moving yet. "What's going on?"

"I got a call," Dean mumbled stuffing a pair of boxers into the corners of the duffle. "I gotta go."

Sam watched with resignation as Dean's eyes scanned the motel room, quickly searching for anything he may have forgotten, never once landing on Sam.

"Right," Sam muttered carefully levering himself out of bed. Some days were worse than some, some days were better than some. Sam could already tell this was going to be one of the bad ones, when his knees and hips groaned and creaked before he had even done anything to piss them off yet.

He finally managed to get his body semi upright, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed, not managing to hold in the rumbling groan when his back clicked loudly.

"Alright there grandpa?" Dean smirked as he pocketed his keys and rechecked his pistol. Maybe last year it would have been a soft jab, brotherly banter to cover up Dean maybe wondering if everything actually was alright. It hit harder in the gut now as Sam knew there was no affection beneath the tone, no concern, only the slight undercurrent of annoyance.

Sam grit his jaw and pushed his clenched fists into the lumpy mattress bed to take some of the weight off his back.

"You know what Dean – I got it," he sneered back ignoring Dean in favour of reaching for his socks, his feet felt like icicles. But they were too far away. He leant forward as much as his protesting back would allow him, his fingers not even brushing the woollen material.

"Yeah I can see that Sammy," Dean chuckled.

Swallowing down the hurt, the embarrassment and humiliation Sam mustered up a glare and shot it to Dean from underneath his bangs. "Don't you have someplace to be?"

"Well I did but I can't exactly go anywhere if you can't get yourself outta bed. Imagine what I'd come home to."

"I don't need your help Dean," Sam growled easing his foot along the carpet curling his long toes around the rim of the socks. As soon as he had a firm grip on them he felt a small thrum of accomplishment that was dashed when a rough hand dropped into his vision, snatching the socks from the floor and chucking them to his chest.

Automatically Sam flung up a hand to catch the ball when it bounced from his chest grimacing as the muscles in his back protested.

"Take that stick outta your ass Samantha," Dean muttered from the bathroom. "I'm here, what more do you want?"

"What do I want?" Sam asked incredulously staring at his brother's profile as he scrubbed mechanically at his teeth. "No… No I'm not doing this now."

"Not doing what?" Dean asked towelling his face giving Sam an obvious up-and-down. "Cos as far as I can see you're /not/ doing a whole lot of anything."

"Screw you Dean," Sam hissed, silently wishing for Dean just to go. He had lived through over 200 years of heaven, hell and life. The sad part was that he wasn't sure which one had been worse. But he had lived through it, survived it all, and could not stand for his semi ghost of a brother to see him struggling to get his aching body to obey his commands; he didn't have the strength today.

"Not my type Sammy," Dean snorted as he grabbed his bag.

Sam didn't watch, his eyes firmly fixed on the socks he was slowly un-balling in his hands but part of him, the most hopeful and naïve part of him thought he felt Dean hesitate for just a moment before he slipped from the room.

Sam felt the icy cold wind from outside blow in for a second before the door slammed shut. When he looked up he was alone. Swallowing past the lump in his throat Sam focused back down on the thick, itchy socks in his hand and then down at his feet all the way down there on the floor.

He let out a laugh that was more like a sob and willed away the burning beneath his eyes. It was going to be one of those days.

-S-S-

A bath, Sam mused to himself, had sounded like a brilliant idea at the time. Steaming hot water soaking heat into his stiff muscles, easing away the pain and tension just for a while. And at first it was bliss. Ok, maybe the tub was a little small and Sam's knees stuck awkwardly in the air but his back almost sang with pleasure as the hot water pressed against his muscles.

It was all fine, all wonderful, until he tried to get out.

In a move he had perfected over the years Sam punished his hands at the bath sides, levering his body slowly from the water enough to attempt to get his feet under him. He did and for a moment he was skyward reaching and then his awkward, slow moving feet slipped from beneath him. His body fell back into the tub with a bang, water sloshing over the sides drowning the small bathroom floor and Sam cried out in pain as his hip and back hit the side of the tub.

When his pained breathing was under control he stubbornly tried again, and again. He tried pushing with his arms and his back screamed, he tried turning to his side but his hip creaked and crunched.

Eventually he let his head fall back against the tiled wall around the bath, panting from exertion, naked wet and getting cold in a now only half full bath. And completely alone.

It was dark outside when Sam registered the sound of the front door opening. He wasn't sure how long he had been sat there in the tub. He had long drained the water to try and keep him somewhat warm and a small towel he had managed to reach now lay affording him a small fraction of cover.

"Sam?" Dean's voice called out into the room. Sam sighed and just stared at the ceiling already resigned and knowing his fate.

"In here," he called tiredly.

There was some shuffling and movement and then the door was pushed cautiously open until Dean's confused face peered into the room. Sam could see him pause out of the corner of his eyes and raise an eyebrow.

"This is what you get up to when I'm gone?" his brother joked. But Sam just blinked at the ceiling.

"Wanted a bath, couldn't get out."

"What do you mean you couldn't get out?" Dean asked coming to crouch beside the empty tub, his boots squeaking against the wet linoleum.

"Exactly that," Sam snorted with no real humour. There was nothing remotely funny about this situation not matter what Dean wanted to joke.

"This was what I was afraid of you know, when you were gone," Sam spoke to the ceiling. "Dying on a hunt, it's not great but it's sort of noble, it has purpose. But I was gonna be one of those guys you read about in the local paper that slipped and fell in his bathtub and no one found the body until a week later cause there was no one around to care. But for me it wouldn't be some neighbour knocking about the smell it would be the motel manager finding me cause he wanted his money." Sam snorted and shook his head.

Dean was an uncharacteristically silent presence at his side. Not moving, not speaking, hardly breathing. Sam still couldn't look to face him, couldn't bear to see pity or condemnation on his brothers face.

"I'm an old man in this world now Dean," Sam sighed to the ceiling. "Sure, I'm smart, strong, tough, fast when my body cooperates, but you know you can out run me now and it's not just because I've been out of the game. I just… I can't live this life much longer man. I don't want to die because my body failed me. I deserve to live out the rest of my life with at least an ounce of dignity."

Sam did turn his gaze now, treacherous tears blurring behind his eyes. But he would not let them fall, he wouldn't let that weakness show as well. Dean was watching him back, his eyes focused on Sam directly and fiercely but Sam could no longer read his brothers facial features, couldn't guess what was behind the man's mask anymore.

Shaking his head Sam snorted, bracing his hands either side of the tub. "Come on," he mumbled, concentrating on getting his stiff knees to bend up. "Help me outta this thing."

Dean was there instantaneously, gripping Sam's biceps and taking the majority of Sam's weight as they lifted him to standing. An involuntary growl of pain left Sam's mouth when his back twisted from its slouched position.

Sam ignored it when the towel slid off his body, leaving him bare and expose, it didn't matter, wasn't like Dean hadn't seen it all before anyway. Sam rested his hands on Dean's shoulders leaning the majority of his weight on the man as he lifted his legs, one after the other out of the tub.

By the time he was dry side and upright Sam was panting, his forehead resting heavily on Dean's shoulder. His whole body was tense and heavy from head to foot and he didn't think he could move a muscle. As usual Dean pushed for more and started leading Sam wordlessly across the bathroom and to the bed.

Sam eased himself from Dean's grasp as soon as he could, letting out a contented sigh of relief as he let his muscles melt as much as they allowed, laying face down onto the motel mattress. Without speaking Dean removed the pillows from under Sam's head letting Sam's body lay flat on the lumpy springs and Sam felt the scratchy blankets being pulled up over his naked flesh.

Normally he would refuse to get into these sheets where countless other people had slept without some barrier of protection but he was just so tired… so tired.

Sam's eyes had slipped closed of their own accord, one single tear, pent up from the pain and humiliation of the day slid free but he didn't have the energy to care.

When he was hanging on the edge of sleep Sam felt a large warm hand card gently through his hair. Sam had to tightly control his flinch of surprise at the contact. Dean's hand stayed there for a moment, entangled with Sam's mess of hair. It was a move that Sam remembered from years gone by when Sam was sick or tired or sad when they were too old and 'manly' for hugs, just a small point of contact to sooth and to comfort. Sam grit his jaw against the torrent of tears that wanted desperately to spill and stayed stock still, hardly breathing lest one minor wrong shift could break the moment.

Eventually Dean took a big breath. "Sammy…" he exhaled out.

Sam waited for more to follow that weighted word but nothing came. And then the hand was gone and Dean cleared his throat gruffly. "Just sleep. It will be better in the morning."

Sam took a shaky breath and turned his head away from where he could hear Dean shuffling around. A few more treacherous tears leaked from his eyes, dripping off his nose but he did nothing about them.

Sleep eventually did follow but Sam was under no illusion that anything would be truly different come morning, nothing at all.


End file.
